


Below the Belt

by prozacplease



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Fight Sex, HYDRA Trash Party, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mild Painplay, Misogyny, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Slurs, Sparring, Spit Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3954406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prozacplease/pseuds/prozacplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet every week at the same day and time, on the vinyl mats in the gym.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Below the Belt

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ниже пояса](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4014289) by [neun_geschichten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neun_geschichten/pseuds/neun_geschichten)



> None of the sentiments expressed in this story are my own. Please read the tags carefully before proceeding. 
> 
> Many thanks to my sweet [GlitterCrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterCrow) for helping me with some sentence revision. You're the best!

They meet every week at the same day and time, on the vinyl mats in the gym. Sometimes Jack is a few minutes late. Today is one of those days. Brock is already there, taping up his hands, when Jack arrives.

“Thought maybe you chickened out,” Brock says, not looking up from his hands.

“Have I ever?” Jack counters.

The sentence is punctuated by him tossing his gym bag on the floor. Brock shrugs. He flexes his hands to test the wrappings and then drops them to his sides, satisfied.

“Well, you got such an ass kicking last time that I figured maybe you couldn’t face me again,” he says.

Jack rolls his eyes as he approaches. He did get his ass kicked last week, but he doesn’t want to discuss that. Instead, he focuses on what the older man is wearing. An old Army t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and torn halfway down the sides, and black compression shorts.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he asks, nodding toward Brock’s lower half.

“It’s called compression. Helps with blood flow.” Brock talks like Jack is an idiot.

“You’re supposed to wear those under shorts, you fuckin’ fag,” Jack says.

Despite the slur, he’s staring at Brock’s shapely thighs and thinking about how he can’t wait to get between them. The guy has a nice body, no doubt about it.

“Not a fag,” Brock says. “I just know it makes you uncomfortable. Psychological warfare.”

Uncomfortable isn’t exactly the word Jack would use. Unless he’s referring to how it feels to spar with a boner. Because that’s definitely uncomfortable.

“Seems to me like you’re askin’ to get fucked,” he says, beginning to tape up his hands. “Been a while for ya, huh? You’re achin’ for it, but you’re too proud to ask.”

Brock grins, but it’s more like a nasty sneer. His hazel eyes are squinted and dark. Jack breaks eye contact with Brock to focus on getting taped up. Brock takes a few steps forward, closing the space between him and the taller man.

“What?” Jack asks, glancing up to look at Brock.

They’re close enough to embrace. But Brock headbutts Jack in the nose instead. The pain is sharp and unexpected, but Jack recovers quickly. Blood is streaming down his face as he tackles Brock onto the mats.

“Fucking prick!” Jack snarls.

Brock cackles like he’s gone insane. He got the reaction he wanted. Jack’s hands aren’t properly taped, but he doesn’t care. He throws punches with all his might. They grapple furiously, a tangled mess of arms and legs. Blood from Jack’s nose drips onto Brock’s sweaty face.

There’s something about Jack’s bloody face that turns Brock on. The sweat, the blood, the frustrated grunts and growls. It’s primal and arousing.

“—stupid fucking faggot,” Jack says, breathless as he pummels Brock.

Brock has no room to throw any punches. He can only use his arms to block the blows and try to get out from under his opponent. They both tumble over as Brock finally gets the upper hand, shoving Jack onto his back as hard as he can.

“Man, I got you pissed off,” Brock says with satisfaction.

He’s proud because Jack normally spars without any actual anger. Jack is the calmer of the two in literally every respect. But not today.

“You busted my fucking nose,” Jack spits. His teeth are pink with blood-tinged saliva.

“Nah, it’s not broken,” Brock chides. “All that blood sure is purdy, though.”

He straddles Jack, plunking himself down on his crotch. Brock’s compression shorts have ridden up his thighs during their struggle, and the skin tight material does nothing to hide his already half-hard cock.

“You’re a creep,” Jack says, panting.

Brock’s laugh is rusty sounding as he reaches down to thumb the deep scar that stretches from Jack’s lower lip to his jawline. The furrow of scar tissue is full of blood. Brock’s tongue lolls out to lick the red fluid off the pad of his thumb. The strange lull in their fight is over in an instant. Jack swings hard and fast, hitting Brock so hard in the jaw that he knocks him over.

Brock’s mouth is coppery with blood from his bitten tongue. They fight like animals, angry and cursing. It’s usually not this passionate. Jack slams Brock onto his front so hard that it knocks the wind out of him. He wheezes sharply as Jack grabs his arm and twists it behind his back.

“You got one arm free to tap out,” Jack says, wrenching Brock’s arm up further between his shoulder blades.

Brock yells in pain, but he uses his free hand to flip Jack off rather than hit the mat.

“Really now?” Jack asks.

He uses his free hand to grab at Brock’s shorts, pinching his skin in the process of snapping him with the elasticized fabric. Brock growls, still trying to get a decent lungful of air inside his body.

“Don’t act like this isn’t what you want, you fucking faggot,” Jack says.

He reaches between Brock’s legs, squeezing his balls hard enough that he yelps. Further inspection reveals that his friend is now sporting a full erection, straining against his tight shorts.

“You’re so gay. Fucking disgusting,” Jack continues.

He feels Brock start to grind down against his hand and pulls away. He’s still mad about his nose, and Brock is being especially nasty today. But he doesn’t like to treat his friend like this. It’s how Brock wants to be handled, though. He can only justify being topped if he is thoroughly defeated first.

“You’re not gettin’ anything from me unless you tap out.”

“Fuck you.”

Jack rolls his eyes again, but it’s okay. He’s not even hard yet. Fighting like this doesn’t work for him like it does for Brock. He reaches down and grabs Brock’s ass, feeling the way the muscles tense up from the attention. Jack finally feels a few twitches in his dick. Thank fuck for those tiny little shorts.

With a growl, Brock smacks the mat twice with his palm. Jack releases him immediately and watches as Brock curls into himself for a moment. Then he finally rolls onto his back, sore arm drawn up to his chest.

“You’re such a baby,” Jack says, pulling down his basketball shorts.

Brock sits up on his elbows, watching as Jack gives himself a few strokes to become fully erect. The outline of Brock's own hard cock is fully apparent through the clingy fabric of his shorts.

Jack scoots closer to Brock on the mats, cock at the ready. Brock looks up at Jack and opens his mouth expectantly. Jack grabs Brock by the longer part of his douchebag haircut, hitting him in the cheek a few times with his dick. Brock winces from having his hair pulled, but his open mouth splits into a grin when he gets slapped.

“Awright, open up,” Jack orders, tightening his grip on Brock’s hair and tugging at his scalp.

Brock obeys the command, sore jaw clicking as he does so. Jack rests the head of his cock on Brock’s tongue. Brock is still, staring up at Jack and waiting for further instructions. Sometimes Jack likes to get sucked off, sometimes he needs a little more control.

Jack loosens his grip on Brock’s hair, but doesn’t let go. “Suck,” he says.

Brock moves his head forward, closing his mouth around Jack’s cock at the same time. Jack gasps softly and Brock would smile if it weren’t for the huge dick in his mouth. There’s already drool on his chin as he moves his head up and down. Jack can’t help himself and pushes in a little further. He feels the tip of Brock’s nose brush his body and his cockhead hit the back of Brock’s throat at the same time. Brock gags, eyes watering.

“Take it, slut,” Jack says with a laugh. All right, so maybe he enjoys this a little bit.

Brock’s bitten tongue smarts as he works it along Jack’s thick shaft, mouth making obscene noises. Jack could come just like this. There’s something deeply satisfying about watching his commanding officer choke on his dick. Brock’s eyelashes are wet and there’s a rope of spit hanging off his chin. Jack thinks he looks kinda pitiful.

“Awww, Rums,” Jack says, pulling his dick out with a wet pop.

“Shut the fuck up,” Brock says. He wipes off his chin with the back of his hand.

Jack moves back and reaches into the pocket of his basketball shorts, pulling out both a tube of lubricant and a condom. Brock’s eyebrows move high on his forehead.

“Really?” he asks with a little snort.

“I’m not fuckin’ you without a rubber,” Jack says. “No idea where you’ve been.”

Truthfully, Brock is a little disappointed. He was hoping Jack would flip him onto his belly again and do him real nasty. But no, he’s gotta get all romantic and shit. When Jack tells him to pull his shorts down and get on his hands and knees, Brock refuses.

Jack recognizes the stubbornness and realizes that he’s got to work Brock from another angle. He sets his supplies aside and pounces on Brock once more, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming him against the mats several times. Brock struggles fiercely, but his dick is still hard.

Jack forces Brock onto his front and holds him down with a hand on the back of his neck. With his other hand, he yanks down Brock’s compression shorts. Brock curses and tries to push himself up, but Jack has him pinned. He’s riled up.

“You fucking fuck—” Brock spits.

Jack gives Brock a sharp slap across his ass, then roughly parts him with his free hand. Brock arches his back into the touch. He’s needy and trying to hide it.

“Stay down,” Jack orders. He squeezes the back of Brock’s neck warningly before releasing him.

Brock stays sprawled out on the mat as Jack flicks open the lubricant and slicks up his fingers. His dick is trapped between his body and the mat, aching and neglected. Jack guides Brock up onto his hands and knees. He parts Brock once more and teases his hole with a few slick fingers. Brock is about to tell him to stop screwing around when he is shocked by the burning press of two fingers inside him at once.

“Ahh—motherfucker!” Brock cries, hunching his shoulders.

“Don’t tense up,” Jack says evenly.

Brock’s muscles twitch around the intrusion. Jack admires the obscenity of his fingers stretching Brock open for a moment before starting to move his fingers in and out. Brock grits his teeth and makes a choked noise in the back of his throat. Jack is rough, but also makes an effort to stimulate Brock’s prostate. It’s not long before Brock is loosened up and moaning like it feels good.

Jack doesn’t waste any time. Brock is one of the most impatient people he knows and they don’t have all day. Jack wishes that he could take his time and make some slow, sweet love to his CO. He doesn’t like having to smack Brock around and degrade him as foreplay, either. But it’s the only way he can fuck Brock.

Jack removes his fingers and rolls a condom down the length of his cock. He slicks himself up with the remaining lube on his hand and rubs the head of his dick against Brock’s ass.

“C’mon,” Brock groans. He’s shivery with arousal and a satisfying amount of shame.

“You’re such a needy little bitch,” Jack says, sliding his cock between Brock’s sweaty cheeks.

He moves back a little and, without any warning, presses inside Brock all at once. Brock yells at the top of his voice. Two fingers at once is a helluva lot different than Jack’s entire dick. Brock’s body gives, but the pain is there too. Brock loves it.

“Fuck, fuck… Oh…” he moans.

Jack feels massive inside him, practically splitting him in two. This is the only way to be fucked, in Brock’s opinion. Jack gives his friend a few moments to ease up, but doesn’t wait too long. He gets a good grip on Brock’s skinny hips and starts to thrust.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” Jack says.

He swallows a whimper as he watches himself move in and out of Brock’s ass. 

He’s slick and hard and a wonderfully tight fit for the other man’s body.

“Fuck me,” Brock urges. “Jack...”

Jack licks his lips and tastes blood from his nose. He loves the way Brock says his name while his dick is inside him. It’s got a special tone to it that he doesn’t hear any other time. He drapes himself over Brock, pressing their sweaty bodies close together. This change in position pushes him balls deep into Brock, who groans loudly.

Jack can’t help himself. He’s awash with arousal and… something deeper. He’s stirred by the smell of their clean sweat, the way Brock tightens up around him every time he pulls out. He kisses the nape of Brock’s neck, wishing he was in a position to kiss him on the mouth.

“You feel so good,” Jack mumbles. “You gettin’ close?”

He grazes Brock’s neck with his teeth and the man shivers.

“Yes… Fuck…”

Brock is dripping precome on the mat and he knows he’s not going to last much longer. The pleasure is heavy in his lower abdomen and quickly building to a peak. Jack is rapidly coming undone himself; he can’t control the grunts and little moans he’s making.

Brock gasps in surprise when Jack bites the back of his neck. He doesn’t break the skin, but he can feel the bones of Brock’s spine with his teeth. Brock snarls at the pain and Jack feels like a lion, asserting dominance over his mate. Brock can’t handle being bitten and getting nailed at the same time. It’s too much.

“Coming,” he chokes out.

It’s all the warning he can give before he spills himself onto the mat. He’s shaking from the force of it and moaning like a bitch in heat.

Jack isn’t quite there yet. With Brock taken care of, he stops the biting. Jack wraps an arm around Brock’s middle and gives him a squeeze, once more planting kisses on his neck. He pants against Brock’s ear and the side of his face. His thrusts become unsteady, rhythm disrupted by pleasure.

“Oh, oh, ohhhnn…” he groans.

He buries his face in the bend where Brock’s neck meets his shoulder, shuddering as he comes. Jack doesn’t get the satisfaction of filling Brock with his semen like he sometimes does. But it’s still very nice.

Sweat drips off the tip of Brock’s nose as Jack slows to a stop. For several minutes, Jack doesn’t let him go. He’s still holding Brock tight when Brock reaches under himself and pats his arm. Jack pulls out and Brock yanks up his shorts like nothing happened.

“Same time next week?” Brock asks, getting to his feet. He waves Jack off when he offers a hand to pull him up.

“You bet,” Jack says. “You always put up a good fight.”

Brock grins and Jack can’t help but smile too. They both look like absolute hell. But anyone they run into afterward just thinks they had a good workout, like they do every week.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [Come hang out with me on Tumblr!](http://www.prozacplease.tumblr.com)
> 
> ♥ Comments are always appreciated. ♥  
> 


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